My Chat with Gus the Dog

Today’s my last day on Gus pee duty as my neighbors arrive home tonight. I’ve stepped in to take Gus out for breaks while my neighbor’s house-sitting relative goes to work. Gus is in a terminal stage and drinks extra water now, so he needs to urinate every couple of hours. This job is a gift of positivity. It’s easy to fit into my remote work schedule, and it’s a happy pause in my otherwise computer-dominated day.

There’s an agenda. Depending on whom you ask, foremost on the docket is the administering of the dog treat. If you ask someone else, the highest priority is ensuring pee happens outside instead of inside. As for me, it’s the discussion between two sentient beings — dog and human. Gus is a dog of few words, but a big communicator — with eyes, tail, pep in his step.

As I walked over to the house this morning, I realized I wanted to ask him something, because I knew he’d have a helpful response.

“Hey, buddy!” I said as I opened the front door and let myself in. He was wagging as usual and nudging me over to the treat closet. Priority #1. I handed down the morsel, he inhaled, and then we were ready for my question.

“Gus, I need something to write about. I’m plumb out of ideas. What say you? Give me some sage advice here.”

He looked up at me as we walked to the backyard for the second item on the agenda, peeing. I could tell from his eyes that he had an idea for me, but first things first. We walked over to the usual spot, and he did his business on some unlucky plants. I noticed a big green insect on the house siding and went over to inspect.

“Look at this thing, Gus. What is it? I’ve seen these bugs before. Let me google it.” I searched for green insect with big wings.

“You are absolutely correct, Gus,” I told him, ‘It is a katydid. You’re quite the entomologist.” I zoomed my phone camera right up to the creature’s cool eyes and took a picture. Gus was satisfied I hailed his bug expertise, but then he parted ways to do more important things. I followed.

Photo by author. Identified by Gus.

I’ve become the neighborhood’s Second-in-Command for Dogs for when folks go away or suddenly hit unexpected delays on the way home. Since my husband, kids, and I never raised a dog — only cats — I gladly take this designation. I’m home a lot of the time these last few years, which I like, so it’s an easy task to add to my daily planner.

I’ve gotten to know three dogs so far. Sweet Maggie, a Cocker Spaniel, who’s no longer with us; Lightning Bolt Mocha, a Brittany Spaniel who replaced Maggie; and Gus, the Labradoodle, easily my favorite — because Doodles! Each of them unique in personality, and each quite thrilled to see me.

Maybe I should have had a dog all this time. When I have one-on-one time with these pets, I always wonder if I made a mistake by never owning a dog. I grew up with dogs, so I understand why they’re vehicles for life satisfaction. My kids never got that opportunity. Do I regret that?

Time is short. Spend it wisely. How do we ever know what is wisest? We don’t, because there isn’t only one wise option. We choose from many and then say our thanks.

As Maggie was slowly getting more ill, I would sing lullabies to her. She’d lay on the sofa with me cozied up next to her and I’d sing what I sang to my kids — Joni Mitchell mostly. Maggie was deaf and blind, but she could feel the soft strokes on her belly. It’s a meditation on peace, isn’t it, petting a dog? For both parties.

Mocha, on the other hand, only runs or shakes. Runs around like a bullet, true to her breed, or shakes when she’s maxed out with excitement over your presence. One word — energy.

Then there’s Gus. He’s a lover, as are Doodles. I know other Doodles, but Gus is different. He’s got sweetness at his core. There’s joie de vivre underneath that soft curly blond hair. I’m going to miss him, but his owners will miss him far more. And he’s got his ideas about things, which is what I wanted from him today.

“Gus, you never answered me earlier. What should I write about? I need ideas.”

He stood there and looked at me. He was panting, as he’s been doing more each day — so hard to watch because I know it means the end is coming one of these days. He motioned for me to come along on a short tour of the edge of the yard. I shrugged and followed. I observed how he was walking. He looked a bit shakier than yesterday. His time is getting shorter.

You’re poo-poo, Death.

Just then Gus squatted down for Number 2, so I ran back into the house for the plastic bags. I swiped them off the kitchen table and scurried back to the porch. Gus was already there waiting for me.

“Hey,” I said, “Come back over to the grass with me while I clean up your poop.” He shrugged and followed.

That’s how it went, each of us shrugging and following the other. We were pals, a team, a demonstration of friendship.

The two of us returned to the kitchen and addressed the third item on the agenda — dog treat #2. I tried to decide which treat it would be this time, though that was silly. I always choose the same one despite the many choices from which to choose. As there are in life.

I broke it into four small pieces and placed them on the ground. Gus inhaled. We waved goodbye to each other and wished each other well — me by word, him by tail. I made my way back to my house and computer, contemplating what I’d write to you.

Perhaps a story on life choices, I thought. Or maybe one on doggie friendship, however brief or limited. After all, small bits of happiness add up. I think I’ll choose that.